She smiled until the dimples showed in her cheeks. "You aren't supposed to mention the passage of time so lightly. I still claim to be in my early thirties."
"What are you?"
I got the dimples again. "I'm a liar," she said. "Marsha, didn't you ever get mail from that character?"
"Perhaps. At the time I didn't handle my own correspondence and it was all sorted out for me." She paused and squinted a little. "Come to think of it, yes. I did. I remember talking about it to someone one day."
I pulled on the butt and let the smoke out slowly. "He was like that. The guy made plenty and didn't know how to spend it, so he threw it away on the girlies. I wonder if he ever followed it up?"
"Never," Kay stated flatly. "When he was still news some of the columnists kept up with his latest crushes and slipped in a publicity line now and then, but nobody ever saw him around the Coast. By the way, what's so important about him now?"
"I wish I knew. For a dead man he's sure not forgotten."
"Mike is a detective, Kay," Marsha said bluntly. "There have been a couple of murders and Mike's conducting an investigation."
"And not getting far," I added.
"Really?" Her eyebrows went up and she cocked the holder between her teeth and gave me a look that was sexy right down to her sandals. "A detective. You sound exciting."
"You're not going to sound at all if you don't get back to your warrior, lady," Marsha cut in. "Now scram."
Kay faked a pout at her and said so-long to me after another long hand-clasp. When she was across the room Marsha slipped her arm through mine. "Kay's a wonderful gal, but if you have it and it wears pants she wants it."
"Good old Kay," I said.
"Luckily, I know her too well."
"Any more around like that?"
"Well, if it's a celebrity you'd like to meet, I can take you backstage and introduce you to a pair of Hollywood starlets, a television sensation, the country's biggest comic and..."
"Never mind," I said: "You're enough for me."
She gave me another one of those squeezes with a laugh thrown in and I wanted to kiss her again. The kid with an arm in a sling who tapped her on the shoulder as he murmured, "Two minutes more, Marsha," must have read my mind, because his eyes went limp and sad.
Marsha nodded as he walked off and I pointed my cigarette at his back. "The kid's got a crush on you."
She watched him a moment, then glanced at me. "I know it. He's only nineteen and I'm afraid he has stars in his eyes. A month ago he was in love with Helen O'Roark and was so far down in the dumps when he found out she was married he almost starved himself to death. He's the one I took to the hospital the night the Decker fellow broke into my apartment."
"What happened to him?"
"He was setting up props and fell off the ladder."
Down at the end of the hall hairy legs in short pants was banging on the piano again screaming for everyone to get back on the stage. Togas started to unravel from the floor, chairs and the scenery and if I had a dozen more pairs of eyes I could have enjoyed myself. Those babes didn't give a damn what they showed and I seemed to be the only one there who appreciated the view. The overhead lights went out and the stage spots came on and I was doing good watching the silhouettes until Marsha said, "I'm getting jealous, Mike.
It wasn't so much what she said as the way she said it that made me jerk around. And there she was leaning on the stack of chairs like a nymph under a waterfall with her own toga wide open down the middle and an impish little grin playing with her mouth. She was barely a reflection of light and shadow, a vague white statue of warm, live flesh that moved with her breathing, then the toga came shut slowly before I could move and she was out of reach.
"You don't have to be jealous of anybody," I said.
She smiled again, and in the darkness her hand touched mine briefly and the cigarette fell out of my fingers to the floor where it lay like a hot red eye. Then she was gone and all I could think about was tonight.
Chapter Five
After the little theater the glare of the sun was almost blinding. I fired up another butt and climbed back into the car where I finished smoking it before I had myself in line again. All the while I kept seeing Marsha in that white toga until it was branded into my brain so deeply that it blotted out everything else. Marsha and Kay and Helen of Troy or something in a lot of white togas drifting through the haze like beautiful ghosts.
Like the ghost of a killer I was after. I threw the butt out the window and hit the starter.
I let my hands and my eyes drive me through traffic while the rest of me sat and thought. It should have been so damn easy. Three guys dead and a killer running loose looking for his lousy split of a robbery that didn't happen. Decker dead on the sidewalk. Arnold Basil dead in the gutter. Hooker dead in his own room and me damn near dead on the floor. Sure, it was easy, just like an illiterate doing acrostics.
Then where the hell was the big puzzle? Was it because Basil had been Lou Grindle's boy, or because Fallon's name kept cropping up? I jammed the horn down at the guy in front of me and yelled as I pulled around him. He gave me a scared grimace and plenty of room and I shot by him swearing at the little things that piled up one after the other.
Then I grinned because that was where the puzzle was. In all the little things.
Like the boys who tried to take me when I was putting the buzz on Hooker.
Like the money that Decker had picked up from somewhere to pay off Dixie Cooper.
Like Decker putting his affairs in order before he walked out and got himself bumped.
Now I knew where I was going and what I wanted to do, so I got off the avenue onto a street and headed west until I could smell the river and see the trucks pulling into their docks for the night and hear the mixture of tongues as the longshoremen streamed out of the yards.
The nearest of them were still ten minutes away when I pulled up outside the hole-in-the-wall saloon and there weren't any early birds inside when I pushed the door open. The bartender was perched on a stool watching the television and his hand automatically went out for a glass as he heard me slide up to the bar.
I didn't let him waste his beer. I said, "Remember me, buddy?"
He had a frown all set and his mouth shaped to tell me off when his memory came back with a jolt. "Yeah." His frown had a twisted look now.
I leaned on the bar so my coat hung loose enough for him to see the leather of the gun sling and he knew I wasn't kidding around. "Who were they, buddy?"
"Look, I..."
"Maybe I ought to ask it different. Maybe I ought to ask it with the nose of a gun shoved down your throat. You can get it that way if you want."
He choked up a little and his eyes kept darting toward the door hoping someone would come in. He licked his lips to bring the words out and said, "I... don't know... who the hell they were."
"You like it the hard way, don't you? Now just once I'm going to tell you something and I want an answer. Scarface Hooker is dead. He was shot last night and because you know who they were you might be sitting on top of a powder keg. In case you're not sure, let me tell you that you are right now with me. I'm going to bust you wide open or leave you for those babies to handle."
The guy started to sweat. It formed in little cold drops along the ridges of his forehead and rolled down his cheeks. He made a swipe with the back of his hand across his mouth and swallowed hard. "They was private detectives."
"They were like hell."
"Look, I'm telling ya, I saw their badges."
"Tell me some more."
"They come in here looking for Hooker. They said he was working against the union and pulling a lot of rough stuff. Hell, how'd I know? I'm a union man myself. If that's what he was doing he shoulda got beat up. They showed me their badges and said they was working for the union so I played along."
"Ever see them before?"
"No."
"Anybody else see them?"
"Yeah."
>
"Goddamn it, say something! Don't give me one word."
"One guy says they was uptown boys. They was roughs... strong-arm boys. The little guy... I heard the other one call him Nocky."
"What else?"
"That's all. I swear to God I don't know no more."
I slid my elbows off the bar and gave him a tight grin. "Okay, friend, you did fine. Let me give you a word of advice. If either of those boys come in here again you pick up the phone and call the nearest precinct station."
"Sure. I'll ask 'em to blow my crazy head off, too."
"They might do it before you reach the phone, mister. Those lads were after Hooker and it might have been them who got to him. They won't like anybody who can put the finger on 'em. Remember what I told you."
He started to sweat again. All along his neck the cords were standing out against the layer of fat. He didn't look a bit happy. A couple of longshoremen pushed in through the door and lined up at the rail and he had one hell of a time trying to keep the glasses under the beer tap. He didn't want to look up when I left, but he had to and I could feel his eyes on my back.
So they were private dicks and one's name was Nocky. Anybody could pick up a badge to flash if he wanted to, but there was just the chance that they were the real thing, so the first pay station I came to I changed two bucks into, nickels and started dialing all the agencies I knew of.
None of them picked up the description, but one of them did hear of a Nocky something-or-other but was sure it was a nickname. He couldn't give me any further information so I tried a couple precincts uptown where I had an in at the desk. A Sergeant Bellew came on and told me the name was familiar, but that was all. He had the idea that the guy was a private dick too but couldn't be sure.
On the off-chance that Pat might know, I called his office. He picked up his phone on the first ring and his voice had a snap to it that wasn't too nice. I said, "It's Mike, Pat. What's eating you now?"
"Plenty. Listen, I'm pretty busy now and..."
"Nuts. You're not that busy."
"Damn it, Mike, what is it now?"
"Ever hear of a private cop called Nocky? It's a nickname."
"No."
"Can you check on it for me?"
"Hell no!" His voice had an explosive crack to it. "I can't do a damn thing except obey orders. The D.A.'s working up another stink ever since this afternoon and he's got us nuts up here."
"What happened, another raid go sour?"
"Ah, they all go sour. He closed down a wire room and pulled in a couple of punks when he was looking for something big. Ed Teen came down with a lawyer and a bondsman and got them both out within the hour."
"No kidding? So Ed's taking a personal interest in what goes on now."
"Yeah. He doesn't want 'em to talk before he does a little coaching first. You know, I think we're onto something this time. We had to pull a Gestapo act and check on our own men, but I think we have that leak located."
"How does it look?"
"Lousy. He's a first-grade detective and up to his ears in hock. He's one of three who have been in on every deal so far and money might be a powerful persuader to get him to pass a sign along somehow."
"Have you picked up the tip-off yet?"
"Nope. If he's doing it he's got a damn good system. Keep shut about this. The only reason I mentioned it is because I may need you soon. The guy knows all the other cops and I may have to stick a plant along the line to see who's picking up the flash from him."
"Okay, I'll be around any time you need me. If you run into anything on that Nocky character, let me know."
"Sure, Mike. Wish I could help you out now, but we're all tied up "
I said so-long and hung up. I still had a handful of nickels to go so I made a blind stab at a barroom number downtown and asked if Cookie Harkin was there. I had to wait while the guy looked and after a minute or so a voice said, "Cookie speaking."
"Mike Hammer."
"Hey, boy. Long time no see. How's tricks?"
"Good enough. You still got wide-open ears?"
"Sure. See all, hear all and say plenty if the pay's right. Why?"
"Ever hear of a private dick named Nocky? He's a wise runt who has an oversize partner. Supposedly a couple of tough boys from somewhere uptown."
I didn't get any answer for a minute, so I said, "Well?"
"Wait a minute, Mike. You know what you're asking about, don't you?" He spoke in next to a whisper. I heard him pull the door of the booth closed before he said anything else. "What're you working on?"
"Murder, friend."
"Brother!"
"Who is he?"
"I'll have to do a little checking around first. I think I know who you mean, all right. I'll see what I can do, but if it's the guy I think it is, I'm not sticking my neck out too far, understand?"
"Sure, do what you can. I'll pay you for it."
"Forget the pay. All I want is some inside stuff I can pass along for what it's worth. You know my angle."
"How long will it take?"
"Gimme a coupla hours. Suppose I meet you at the Tucker Bar. It's a dive, but you can get away with anything in there."
It was good enough. I told him I'd be there and put the rest of the nickels back in my pocket. They make a big lump and a lot of noise so I went across town to an Automat and spent them all on a supper I needed bad.
It was dark when I finished and had started to rain again. The Tucker Bar was built under a neon sign that put out more light in advertising than was used up inside. It was off on a side street in a place nobody smart went to even on a slumming party, but it was a place where people who knew people could be found and gotten drunk enough to spill over a little excess information if the questions were put right.
I saw Cookie in the back room edging through the tables with a drink in his hand, stopping at a table here and there to say hello. He was small and skinny with a big nose, bigger ears and loose pockets that could spill out the right kind of dough when he needed it. The guy looked and acted like a cheap hood when he was the head legman for one of the biggest of the syndicated columnists. I waited at the bar nursing a beer until the act on the dance floor was finished. A couple of strippers were trying to see how fast they could shed their clothes in time to the same music. They got down to bare facts in a minute's time and there was a lot of noise around the ringside. The rest of the crowd was having a hard time trying to see what they were paying for.
There was a singer and a solo pianist after that before the management decided to let the customers go back to drinking. I picked up my glass and squeezed through the bunch standing under the arch that led to the back room and worked my way to the table where Cookie was sitting.
He had two chicks with him, a pair of phony blondes with big bosoms and painted faces and he was showing them a coin trick so they had to lean forward to see what he was doing and he could leer down their necklines. He was having himself a great time. The blondes were drinking champagne. They were having a great time too.
I said, "Hello, ape man."
He looked up and grinned from one big ear to another until he looked like a clam just opened. "How do ya like that, my old pal, Mike Hammer! What're you doin' down here where people are?"
"Looking for people."
"Well, sit right down, sit right down. Here's one all made to order for you. Meet Tolly and Joan."
I said, "Hi," and pulled out the fourth chair.
"Mike's a friend of mine from way back, kids. A real good skate." He nodded at the blonde who was giving me the eye already. "You take Tolly, Mike. Joan and me's already struck up a conversation. She's a French maid from Brooklyn who works for the Devoe family. Wait'll you catch her accent. She sure fooled them. Gawd, what a family of jerks they are!"
I caught his expression and the slight wink that went with it. Tomorrow the stuff Joan was handing out would turn up in print and the hell would get raised in the Devoe household. She gave us a demonstration of her accent with
giggles and launched into a spiel of how the old man had tried to make her and how she refused and I almost wanted to ask her how she got the mink cape that was draped over the back of her chair on a maid's salary.
Tolly turned out to be the better of the two. She was a juicy eyeful with a lot of skin showing and nothing on under the dress she wore just to be conventional. She told me she had been posing for an artist down in the village until she caught him using a camera instead of a paintbrush. She found he was peddling the prints and made him kick in with a fifty-fifty cut or get the pants knocked off him by an ex-boy friend in the Bronx, and now she was living off the cream of the land.
"Your artist friend sure mixes pleasure with business, honey," I told her. "Hell, I wouldn't mind seeing you undraped, a bit."
She snapped open her purse and tossed me a wallet-sized print with a laugh. "Get right to it." She had a body that would make a statue drool, and with the poses the artist got her into it was easy to see why she wasn't hurting for dough. She let me look at it a little while, asked me if I wanted to dance and laughed when I said maybe later, but not right then.
Finally we got up and danced while Cookie sat and yapped with the French maid from Brooklyn. Tolly didn't have any trouble giving me the business because the mob on the dance floor had us pressed together like the ham in a sandwich.
Every bit of her was pressed against every bit of me and her mouth was right next to my ear. Every once in a while she'd stick her tongue out and send something chasing down my spine. "I like you, Mike," she said.
I gave her a little squeeze until her eyes half closed and she said something through her teeth. I slapped her fanny for it. We got back to the table and played kneesies while we talked until the girls decided to hit the powder room.
As they walked away Cookie said, "Cute kids, hey?"
"Real cute. Where the devil do you find them?"
"I get around. I don't look like much, but I get around. With a pair like them on my arms it's a ticket to anyplace I want to go so long as a guy's taking up the tickets."
I picked a smoke out of my pack and handed one to him. "What about our deal?"
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